Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
COOKIE
The following morning, the sun is blinding.
I stand at the window in Red’s shirt and watch snow drip from the eaves.
Everything outside glitters—it’s so bright and clean, like the storm erased itself.
Something about this new day feels different, too.
Almost like I didn’t spend the last two days learning the taste of a man’s skin, the sound he makes when he comes, the way his hands shake when he touches me like I’m something he can’t lose.
My car sits half-buried in a drift, but the roads are clear.
"I can see the roads from here—they're clear enough. The sun's doing its work, melting everything. I think… I think it's safe to go home." I hate saying it, but as much as I want to, I can’t stay here forever.
Bear is sprawled by the fire, watching me with those knowing brown eyes. Even the dog can tell I’m stalling.
“Are you leaving today?”
Red’s voice comes from behind me, low and wary. I don’t turn around, because if I look at him now, I’ll lose whatever fragile willpower I’ve built.
“I should. Work starts back up tomorrow, and my rent’s due. Plus, Beth will worry if I don’t.”
The practical reasons sound hollow even to my own ears.
He doesn’t respond right away. When he does, his voice is closer. “I can help dig the car out.”
Now I turn. He’s standing in the middle of the cabin with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks like he’s bracing for impact—like he already knows what I’m about to say and is trying to get ahead of the hurt.
God, he’s so beautiful.
“What happens if I stay another night?”
The question hangs between us.
His shoulders tense. “If you stay,” he says slowly, each word punctuated. “I’ll want you to stay longer.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
“And if I stay longer?” My voice comes out smaller than I intend.
His eyes lock on mine. “Then I won’t want you to go at all.”
There it is. The truth we’ve been dancing around since the storm cleared.
I cross the room before my brain can stop me.
My arms go around his waist, my forehead pressing into his chest, and I breathe him in—wood smoke and coffee and something that’s uniquely him.
His arms come around me without hesitation, without question, like he’s been waiting for permission to hold on.
“I don’t want to go either.” The words muffle against his shirt.
“Then don’t.”
“I have to.”
His chest expands under my cheek and then falls. “I know.”
We stand there and hold each other in the middle of his cabin while sunlight streams through the windows and reality presses in from all sides. His hand slides up my spine, fingers spreading wide between my shoulder blades like he’s trying to memorize the shape of me.
Like he’ll forget me.
Then he tilts my chin up, and the kiss isn’t gentle.
It’s hunger and frustration and every unsaid word between us. His mouth takes mine like he’s trying to engrave the taste of me into his memory, his teeth catching my lower lip before his tongue sweeps in.
I rise on my toes, my hands fisting in his shirt, and kiss him back with everything I have.
His hands drop to my hips and yank me against him. I can feel he’s already hard through his jeans, and heat sears through me so fast I gasp into his mouth.
“Red—”
“Do you want me to stop?” His voice is gravelly and needy. He’s already backing me toward the door and pushing the shirt up my thighs. “I can.”
I shake my head, breathless. “Don’t you dare.”
My back hits the door hard enough to rattle the frame. His mouth moves to my neck and sucks lightly, and I wrap my legs around his waist on instinct. The position grinds us together, and we both groan.
“Fuck,” he mutters against my throat. His hands are everywhere, gripping my ass, sliding under the shirt, his fingers digging into my skin. “I need—”
“Yes.” I don’t even know what he’s asking. “Whatever it is, yes.”
He grabs the back of my neck and kisses me again, deeper this time, all tongue and teeth and desperation. I rock against him, chasing more, and his hips buck in response.
“Red.” I reach between us and guide him to where I’m already slick and ready. “Please. I need—”
He pushes into me, and I cry out, my head falling back against the door.
It’s fast and rough and exactly what we both need—there’s no time for slow sex; there’s no patience left between us.
His hips snap forward and I meet every thrust, our bodies finding the rhythm we learned over the last two days.
“God.” His voice breaks on the word. One hand braces against the door beside my head, and the other slides between us, thumb finding my clit with expert accuracy. “You feel—”
I can’t form words. I can only hold on, my legs locked around him, my fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to bruise. The angle hits something perfect inside me, and I’m already close, wound too tight, flying too fast, despite the countless orgasms.
“Come for me.” His thumb circles harder. “I want to feel you.”
I shatter. My orgasm rips through me so hard my vision blurs, and I bite down on his shoulder to muffle the scream, even though no one would hear me, anyway. He groans and follows me with my name tearing from his throat.
We sag against each other, both shaking, our hearts hammering in sync. He’s still inside me, his forehead pressed to the door beside my head, his breath hot against my neck.
“Christ,” he mutters.
I let my legs slide down. He pulls out carefully, then tucks himself away. His hands are gentle now, polite almost, smoothing the shirt back down over my hips.
When I finally look up at him, his eyes are wrecked.
My heart sinks.
“Wow,” I say, nervous laughter escaping my swollen lips.
“Yeah.” His thumb brushes my cheekbone. “Wow.”
We gaze at one another, both still trying to catch our breath and just… take in what just happened. How intense everything is between us, and now I’m leaving.
He helps me gather my things—the Santa dress I arrived in, now folded and tucked into my bag, and the cookies we never gave Beth. His movements are careful and already distant, like I'm already a guest who's overstayed her welcome.
It hurts.
I want to say something. Ask him what we're doing, and if this meant anything to him.
But his eyes are focused on the task, and I can't find the words.
Outside, the air is fresh yet ice-cold. Red digs my car out with quick movements. Like he's clearing a driveway, not watching someone he cares for leave.
I stand on the porch with Bear, one hand buried in his thick fur, and watch Red as he works. He doesn't look at me or slow down. He just keeps digging with the same mechanical precision he uses for everything—his walls firmly back in place.
I swallow.
Don’t do this, Red.
"You'll let me come back to visit, right?" I ask the dog, my throat tight. "Tell your stubborn owner he can call me. That I want him to."
Bear licks my hand.
Red pauses, his back to me, shoulders tense. For a moment I think he heard me—that he might turn around and say something—anything—that makes this less like an ending.
But he doesn't.
He just keeps digging.
When the car’s clear, Red opens the passenger door but doesn’t step back. We stand there in the space between the car and the cabin, between leaving and staying.
“You need a new car.”
I laugh. “Right.”
“I’ll be here,” he says, not meeting my eyes.
It’s not a goodbye, or a see you later.
I reach up and pull him down for one more kiss—slowly this time, softly, saying everything we haven’t figured out how to put into words yet.
Then, I get in the car, climbing over the center console with his words ringing in my ears—you need a new car—damn straight I do. Then I start the engine, which, for once, starts without an issue.
Maybe the universe thinks I should leave too.
I watch him in the rearview mirror as I drive away, standing in the snow with his hands in his pockets and his dog at his side.
Tears blur my vision, and I sink my teeth into my lip, my throat swollen at the sight of them disappearing in my rearview.
Then he’s gone.
This isn’t over.
It can’t be.
I make it halfway down the mountain before I have to pull over.
My hands shake on the steering wheel; my vision blurs with tears I've been holding back since the cabin. The car idles—miraculously still running—while I press my palms against my eyes and try to remember how to breathe.
He let me go.
There was no fight or plea to stay. Just that blankness, like the last eight days didn't happen. Like he didn't hold me through the night and whisper my real name as if it meant something.
My phone buzzes.
It’s Beth.
Beth: The roads are clear! Please confirm you’re alive.
Beth: Hello???
Beth: COOKIE, I SWEAR TO GOD.
I type back with numb fingers:
Almost home. I'm fine.
I'm not fine.
I put the car in drive and keep going, watching the mountain disappear behind me, and I can’t help feeling I’ve left something behind.